


shatter the silver silences

by LearnedFoot



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: (not between peter and tony), Angst, Canon Compliant, Crying, Deal with a Devil, Hurt Peter Parker, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, M/M, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Resurrected Tony Stark, Well they'll probably get there anyway, with a happy-ish ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-24
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:47:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28209309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LearnedFoot/pseuds/LearnedFoot
Summary: Peter Parker is not okay, and Tony has no idea why.
Relationships: Peter Parker/Tony Stark
Comments: 22
Kudos: 206
Collections: Writing Rainbow Silver





	shatter the silver silences

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thedevilchicken](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thedevilchicken/gifts).



> A treat for you, because "pining A saves B's life at great cost to themself then hides it from them" is the best tag. 
> 
> Title from John Hall Wheelock's "The Divine Fantasy"

Peter Parker is not okay, and Tony has no idea why.

It bothers him, not knowing. Bothers him a hell of a lot more than not knowing the how or why of his own resurrection. Maybe that makes his priorities off, but hey, it’s the truth.

He’s read the files. He knows what the kid went through in the two years Tony was dead. Beck, his temporary stint as Public Enemy #1, the Sinister Six—wild stuff. Tony wouldn’t blame him for being a little shaken. Or a lot shaken. Hell, make it shaken and stirred, he wouldn’t bat an eye.

But that’s not it, because Peter wasn’t like this when Tony first came back. That wild, wonderful, terrible first month, filled with medical exams and tough conversations with Pepper, reunions with all his friends, with his _daughter_ —painful and joyous and too much. Peter was there by his side whenever Tony wanted him, always cheerful. Bubbling, even. The same bright ball of enthusiasm Tony remembered from the before, smile as big as the one Tony saw over his sink every night for five years.

So it was a shock when Peter first showed up to their newly reinstated weekly lab session with dark stains under his eyes, like he hadn’t slept since their last meeting. A shock and a heartbreak. Peter Parker drained of energy is like a kicked puppy: just _wrong_.

But Tony wrote it off. Kid was in his freshmen year at Columbia, taking some stupid number of classes, plus patrolling, plus training with the Avengers, plus putting up with Tony’s mopey ass. Plus, hopefully, a social life shoved in there somewhere, not that he gave much hint of one. So yeah, maybe he skimped on sleep one week. Tony wasn’t exactly in a position to judge poor self-care.

But Peter didn’t look any better the next week, or the one after that. Tony started dropping hints about sleep schedules and too many classes, even going so far as to mention his own nightmares in the hope of getting Peter to open up. Which is not exactly something he likes to share, thank you, so he really thought that would get him somewhere.

It didn’t. All the prodding and poking earned Tony was forced smiles and false assurances that Peter was fine, Mr. Stark, really. 

Which brings him to today, right now, this second, watching Peter wince as he reaches for a wrench across the desk.

Spider-Man, _wincing_. That’s really not supposed to happen.

Tony is by his side in a second, tugging his t-shirt up. Peter reacts too late, off his game: he jumps away, but not before Tony sees the bruise. The dark, horrible bruise running across his entire side, radiating across his back. Maybe further, Tony didn’t get a good look.

“Mr. Stark!” Peter exclaims. He’s doing his best attempt at seeming affronted, but his eyes dart to the side, guilty. He knows he’s been caught.

But caught at _what_ , exactly?

“The hell, Parker?”

“I should be asking you that! You can’t just…you know, invade my personal space.” He juts his chin out, daring Tony to defy him.

Not exactly a hard dare there, bud.

“I can and I did. We can debate the ethics of it all day, but I’m a little more concerned about who turned my invincible spiderling into what looks like a personal punching bag.”

“I…” Peter wraps his arms around himself, curling inwards. “Nobody.”

“That is about the least convincing ‘nobody’ in the history of nobodies, kid. Come on, what was it? Alien weapons on the streets again? Let me know and I’ll get the gang together. We can kick their ass right now. No farming it out to the FBI this time…”

“No, Mr. Stark! Don’t call anyone, it’s fine. It’s…” Peter bites his lip, clearly thinking. Finally, with a sigh, he says, “It really was nobody. I…I ran into a building. While I was swinging. It was really stupid.”

Tony frowns. That doesn’t add up. “You, Mr. Super Spider Sense, ran into a wall.”

“It’s embarrassing,” Peter mumbles, eyes dropping to the floor. “I just…missed a swing.”

Huh. On the one hand, that doesn’t make a lot of sense. On the other, Peter looks awkward enough that the answer really might be a very silly accident. Tony has had more than his fair share of those; he knows what it’s like not to want to explain that he has a black eye because he punched himself in the face with a malfunctioning gauntlet.

“Do you maybe think running into buildings is a sign you need to get more sleep?”

Peter glances up, startled. “What?”

“Kid, come on. You don’t have to tell me what’s going on with you if you don’t want to—though frankly, it hurts my feelings—but if you’re running into walls, something’s gotta give. Take it from the master of not giving an inch until everything collapses, it’s no way to live.”

Peter stares at him, shocked, which makes no sense. Tony has made it clear he’s well aware that all is not right in the world of Peter Parker.

“I—I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings,” Peter finally says, small. “I’m really sorry.”

Oh, _that’s_ the part that surprised him. That’s kind of sweet, actually. But making him feel guilty wasn’t the goal. 

“Not a big deal. I’m not trying to force you to let me be your shrink or anything.” Tony flashes his most charming smile. “I’m just saying, I’m here if you need me.”

Peter nods, lips flickering into a smile, too.

“You’re here at all, Mr. Stark. That’s all I need.”

This fucking kid. Touched, Tony takes a step closer and brings his hand to Peter’s cheek. “Will you at least let me look at that bruise? Patch it up?”

“Um, no thanks?” Peter looks reluctant to say it, but he adds, firmly, “I’m good.”

Tony sighs and drops his hand, nodding. He’s pushed enough for one day. He’ll just have to keep an eye on the situation.

***

Tony hopes things will get better over the summer. No school, and he knows Peter’s internship hours are reasonable, because he’s interning for Tony.

Things don’t get better.

Sometimes, they seem to. There are days Peter shows up like his old self, bouncing into the lab with a million ideas pouring out of him in a breathless tumble. It’s like the clouds spreading on a raining day, a sunburst, a rainbow—fuck, Tony feels like a giddy teenager with a crush trying to describe how those moments make him feel. How much he god damn adores seeing a genuine smile on Peter’s face.

It’s a problem he feels like that. The kind of problem he’d maybe even do some self-reflection about if those days weren’t so few and far between.

But for every sunshine and rainbows day, there’s five of Peter dragging his feet, pale and distracted, smiles fake and faltering. Tony sometimes catches him cringing when he twists or reaches, as if patrolling accidents are becoming more frequent.

And then one day he shows up with a limp and Tony loses it.

“Peter,” he says before Peter can even make it to his workstation. One word, but it gets the point across. Peter freezes, flinching.

“Mr. Stark, please don’t.” He sounds choked, pained. He blinks rapidly; even from across the room it’s clear he’s holding back tears. “Not today.”

Hell no. This has gone on long enough.

“Yes, today,” Tony says, shoving a stool to the side for effect as he crosses the space between them. “You have to tell me what’s going on.”

“But you said—I don’t…” Peter shakes his head. He’s losing the battle against his tears: a few stick to his lashes, and more slip through, sliding down his cheeks, making his signature defiant jaw thrust look tragic. “I’m not a kid, I don’t _have_ to tell you anything.”

“Fine, you don’t have to,” Tony concedes. “But you should.”

“No, Mr. Stark, I can’t…”

The tears are flowing freely now. Tony pulls the edge of his sweater over the heel of his hand, glad he’s in long sleeves, and uses it to wipe at Peter’s face, doing his best to stem the tide.

That was apparently the wrong move—or maybe the right one, depending on your point of view—because with a sound like his heart is being torn from his body, Peter throws himself against Tony, wrapping his arms around his waist and sobbing into his chest. Tony stumbles with the weight of it but manages to catch himself. He wraps his arms around Peter’s head, stroking his fingers through his hair, making what he hopes are comforting sounds.

After a few minutes, the sobs subside into quiet hitches, and Peter mumbles something suspiciously like, “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t you dare apologize.” Tony’s proud of himself for sounding calm, when all he wants is to tear the world apart for making Peter cry. “Please, just tell me how I can help. Anything, Pete. Just give me something.”

Peter tilts his head, blinking at Tony through the last of the tears. “Anything?”

“Of course,” Tony says without thinking.

He probably should’ve thought, because the next thing he knows, Peter’s kissing him. It’s fierce, insistent, too much tongue too quickly. Peter’s hands are suddenly in Tony’s hair, pulling him down, and then teeth get involved in a way teeth really shouldn’t be involved—

Tony does the only sensible thing he can: he takes control. He swings Peter around, lifting him onto the nearest desk in a single swoop, then brings his hands to his face, guiding him. Slower, deeper— _god_ it feels good. Tony can’t remember the last time he kissed someone like this; not since before he died. Peter moans into his mouth, guttural, surging forward to meet Tony’s rhythm.

They shouldn’t. There are so many reasons they shouldn’t. But Peter was crying, and now he’s whining in need, and Tony did that, Tony gave that to him; he’s not going to stop. He can’t, not when Peter feels like heaven in his hands, not when he’s smiling against Tony’s mouth, whispering “Wow,” and “Oh my god,” between kisses.

Tony presses their foreheads together, catching his breath. His heart feels like it’s going haywire. Damn, but he’s weak for this kid. When did that even happen?

Doesn’t matter.

“Peter,” he murmurs, and he already sounds wrecked.

“Mr. Stark,” Peter echoes, sounding just as gone.

And then they’re kissing again, hands fumbling. Peter starts yanking at Tony’s shirt, so he returns the favor, slipping his hands under Peter’s tee, feeling those impossible abs, lifting, wanting to see—

“Wait!” Peter says just as Tony looks down and catches sight of the bruises on Peter’s hips. Bruises that are unmistakably handprints.

Handprints that look too large to belong to a person.

What. The Actual. Fuck.

“I’m sorry.” Peter’s voice cracks as he slumps away from Tony, hiding his head in his hands. “I’m sorry, you weren’t supposed to know. I didn’t—it’s okay, I’m okay, you don’t have to worry, you _don’t_ , I’m fine…”

The words fade into nothing as Peter’s shoulder shake. He’s crying again, sobbing, uncontrolled.

The flame of confused jealousy that had briefly flickered in Tony’s heart dies, doused out by cold dread.

“Okay,” he says. “F.R.I., lockdown. No one comes in or out of here until I say.”

***

It takes some doing—by which Tony means he physically lifts Peter in his arms like a god damn sack of potatoes—but eventually Tony gets Peter situated on the lab’s single couch, blanket over his shoulders and a bottle of coke in his hands, because that’s the one non-alcoholic option Tony could dig up on short notice.

Peter stares at the coke very intently. Tony knows when someone’s avoiding his eyes. Fine, let him.

Since “you have to tell me,” didn’t work earlier, Tony goes with another tactic: staying quiet. It’s hell, sitting there in silence for what is either five minutes or five hours. Makes Tony want to pull his own skin off with the anxiety of it. But patience is a virtue, and today virtue is rewarded: eventually, Peter starts talking.

“So, you know how no one knows why you were resurrected?” he begins.

Oh, oh no. Tony already does not like where this is going.

“I’m acquainted with the concept, yes.” Way too glib for the situation. Dial it back, Stark. “What does that have to do with…?”

“It was me. I…I made a deal?”

Tony’s stomach drops faster than falling without his suit. Peter made a deal, and now there are handprints on his hips. That can’t—how can that—

“A deal with…with who?”

The coke sloshes as Peter spins the bottle between his hands, watching it like it’s the most interesting thing on the planet.

“A demon,” he eventually admits.

“A demon,” Tony repeats, because he has absolutely no way to process those words coming out of that mouth in this context. “There are demons now? Demons are a thing?”

Peter quirks a sad smile, still focused on the coke. “Well, Doctor Strange says that’s just our world’s word for them, you know? Demon, god, creature from another dimension—it’s all just how you look at it.”

“Wait, Strange knows about this?”

Tony will kill him. Screw Earth’s protection from other realms or whatever his bullshit is, he’ll straight up blast him to another dimension if he—

“No!” Peter cuts in, with enough urgency that Tony’s anger must’ve been obvious. “I mean, he was there when I found the book that mentioned this guy who can resurrect people, but he said no way, he took the book, I had to sneak back in to get it…It’s not his fault Mr. Stark. It was me…It was my choice. Only me.”

Peter sounds like he’s breaking in two, but somewhere under there is that stubborn spark of defiance that never seems to go out.

God, Tony loves that about him.

He reaches forward and wraps his fingers around Peter’s, stopping his fidgeting with the coke. It’s enough to get Peter to look up. His eyes are red from crying so long.

“What kind of deal, Pete?”

Tony’s not stupid, he already has an idea, and yet it’s still a shock when Peter whispers, “Me for you. He brought you back, and he…got to have me. Whenever he wants. He didn’t start right away, and I thought maybe he didn’t really…but then…he meant it. Turns out he meant it a lot.”

Tony doesn’t have to ask what that means. It’s obvious. Sickening, heart wrenchingly obvious.

“Why?” he manages to ask. “Why would you do that?”

Peter tilts his head, looking insulted. “Because it’s worth it.”

Tony is going to vomit. He’s not worth this. Not even close.

“Peter…”

“It _is_ ,” Peter insists, as if he already knows everything Tony wants to say. “It is. And besides, it’s not reversible so don’t even try that. It’s…I told you, it’s fine. It’s fine. I don’t regret it.”

The fucked up thing is, the way Peter’s looking at him, half adoring, half proud, Tony believes he means that. He thinks this was a rational thing to do. He honestly wanted Tony alive that badly. He doesn’t regret it even now that he’s living with the consequences.

Stupid, amazing, unbelievable Peter Parker. Tony might be a little in love with him.

“Peter Parker, you are an absolute idiot. And reckless, and irresponsible.” He pries Peter’s hand free from the bottle and brings it to his lips, kissing his knuckles. “And maybe the bravest person I’ve ever met.”

Peter stares at his hand, then at Tony. “Do you…does that mean you forgive me?”

Tony twists Peter’s hand, then kisses the inside of his wrist. “No, because there’s nothing to forgive.”

“Oh.” Peter tangles their fingers, scooting over until they’re pressed together, side against side. His head falls to Tony’s shoulder. “What does it mean then?”

“Simple.” Tony rubs his thumb along the back of Peter’s hand, hoping it can convey even a fraction of how reassuring he wants to be. “It means we’re going to figure out how to kill a demon.”

**Author's Note:**

> Re-dated because it was part of an exchange and authors just revealed. Sorry if you've seen it before!
> 
> As always, feedback is loved <3


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